


The Future's So Bright

by shirogiku



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Season/Series 04, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Cutler, in a few snippets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future's So Bright

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** _Being Human_ belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.

* * *

Nick doesn’t know if he’ll ever see another dawn -- and Hal won't tell him as he leads Nick outside -- but he supposes he could do without.  
  
He has to shield his eyes from the radiance, but it only feels more intense than usual, his face and hands prickling as if the skin has grown hypersensitive. He dallies and Hal pushes him right into a patch of sunlight -- will keep pushing him even after he’s gone, replaced by the Hal in Nick’s head.  
  
For five years, Hal will become Nick’s sun and the rest -- shadows cast by him.  
  
A cruel sun.

* * *

Hal is looking at Nick expectantly, his gloved hands folded in front of him elegantly .  
  
“Uh.” Nick clears his throat. “Do I actually have to sleep in it?” He gives the coffin a distrustful look. It’s black and quite stylish, with imitation white silk upholstery -- but still, well, a coffin.   
  
“Isn’t that a bit... “ Nick scrunches up his face, looking for an inoffensive term. “Old-fashioned?”  
  
A hint of danger creeps into Hal’s voice. “Are you calling me old-fashioned, Nick?”   
  
Nick’s eyes widen in alarm. “No, of course not!”  
  
And he lies down into the coffin, looking absolutely mortified.  
  
Hal closes the lid and makes his exit, grinning boyishly. “Dennis, my twenty pounds.”

* * *

Nick chokes on his drink and spits it out, curling his lips in disgust.  
  
“Beetroot juice,” Hal announces as if nothing. “A natural stamina boost -- exactly what you need.” He even slips a bit of innuendo into his tone.  
  
What Nick can’t find words for, is clearly written across his face. Kill me now. Wait, you already did.   
  
“It also lowers blood pressure,” Hal adds.  
  
Nick sputters. “It looked like blood!”  
  
“Nick, Nick.” Hal shakes his head. “What kind of a vampire can’t tell one from another?”  
  
And later. “Dennis, my thirty pounds.”  
  
Nick overhears it and thinks he’s not a racing horse to bet money on. Little does he know about Hal’s sense of humor.  
  
* * *

“Garlic? Do I have to watch out for garlic?” Rachel has a penchant for adding it in her cooking. “And Hal, please , no more pranks.” His maker’s juvenile behaviour can get quite unbecoming.  
  
A sly twinkle in Hal’s eye tells Nick it’s a lost case. “Why don’t we test it?”   
  
Before Nick even begins to protest, Hal unleashes a clove, with the air of a magician pulling something nasty out of his hat, seemingly unaffected by it. But, as with crosses ( tested earlier this week, very educational), it’s not a reason for optimism.  
  
Hal puts it in Nick’s mouth and Nick spits it out, his skin crawling, like he’s tried eating maggots.  
  
Hal smirks and sucks on another clove.  
  
Nick give him a sour look. “Why doesn’t it affect you?”  
  
“I’m an Old One.” Hal takes Nick’s chin between his fingers. “And you, my friend, are but a fledgeling.”  
  
Hal kisses him, garlic and blood bursting on Nick’s tongue.  
  
It’s bad manners.  
  
* * *

Rachel sits down in front of the bedroom mirror to brush her hair, humming to herself, and Nick instinctively edges away on the bed, out of the reflective range.  
  
He’s been elated to learn he wasn’t forbidden to come home, to Rachel, to this .  
  
She puts on some scent -- something flowery, sweet, but not her usual perfume -- and goes to bed, leaning closer to run her hand across Nick’s cheek. He mustn’t cringe away, mustn’t let the pulsing of her blood drown out the rest of her.  
  
“Ouch!” She wrinkles her nose, pretending she’s just pricked a finger. “You’ve got stubble!”   
  
Nick hasn’t shaved: he’s been afraid of cutting himself. “I’ll shave... later.” He avoids meeting her eyes, pretending to be occupied with some paperwork.  
  
“Oh, you’re such a baby.” Funny how Hal says similar things. “Wait here, darling.”   
  
She brings shaving cream, a bowl of hot water, a towel and a razor. “Take off your undershirt.” There’s no arguing with her when she’s all set like this.   
  
Rachel sit on his lap, applying the cream in a few efficient movements and welding the razor like a proper barber. Nick follows every flick of her wrist, fascinated with the arteries in it.  
  
“Do you want me to cut your hair too?” She wipes her hands and Nick’s face and ruffles his hair, answering herself before he even begins formulating a reply. “No, let’s leave it for now -- I like it like this.”  
  
Nick waits sullenly as his wife giggles and plays with his hair. She once said that she married him for his pretty eyes and fluffy hair. She’s had a bit too much red wine at that time.  
  
When she’s done, she kisses his forehead.  
  
“Rachel?” The words get stuck in his throat like a fish bone. “I love you.”  
  
She looks at him fondly. “I know, silly.” Then she tilts her head, as if remembering something. “Oh, by the way, who was that handsome gentleman the other day?”  
  
“Nobody,” Nick answers hastily, dislodging her from his lap.   
  
She frowns. “Are you hiding something from me, Nick?”  
  
He moves further away on the bed. “No!”  
  
She sighs and wraps her arms around him. “Are you in trouble?”  
  
“What makes you think that?” Nick asks in a halting voice.  
  
“I don’t know.” She looks genuinely upset. “You’re being so... distant. Am I doing something wrong?”  
  
Nick turns to her and gives her his most heartfelt look. “Of course not! You’re perfect.”  
  
That makes her smile. “Flatterer.” She pauses, turning solemn. “Dear, you know you can tell me anything, right?”  
  
“I do.” He pulls her closer and kisses her, revelling in her warmth, her liveliness. He’s been so cold these days. The pounding has faded into the background, just a noise, and he thinks he can manage. It will be alright.  
  
* * *

This is why Nick hates hunting on his own -- nothing ever goes right. There are no crosses in the girl’s house, she’s too modern for that. But she’s smart and carves one on her chest with the kitchen knife she’s intended to use for self-defense, right where he can see it.  
  
It works. Nick leaves through the front door. She doesn’t report the incident to the police.

* * *

Nick wastes his last thought on wondering whether Hal will be relieved or not when he hears the news. It seems like such an important question.


End file.
